


We'll Get Along Swimmingly

by ghostnebula (gghostnebula)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Creampie, Dom/sub Undertones, Eddie is a slut, Hook-Up, Kinda, Locker Room Sex, M/M, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Kink Negotiation, Painful Sex, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Richie's actually a big softie, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Subspace, Top Richie Tozier, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gghostnebula/pseuds/ghostnebula
Summary: Richie and Eddie see a lot of each other, being on the water polo team and swim team respectively, but they aren't "friends", and if anything Eddie thinks Richie is an annoying loudmouth who needs to stop giving him bad nicknames and lay off the caffeine.It's not like he's attractive or anything. It's not like Eddie's a little bit curious. He's perfectly content being just-barely-civil with this dude for the duration of his college career.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 44
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [richieblows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/richieblows/gifts).



> WARNINGS:  
> -dubcon*  
> -unsafe sex (use condoms guys!)  
> *Richie initiates aggressively and without and communication of either of their intentions. Eddie _does_ wanna fuck but Richie's not positive at first so it comes off kind of dubious, hence the dubcon tag, but I assure you they both want what happens here lol
> 
> Also, implications of Bill and Eddie hooking up, in case that's not your cup of tea.
> 
> Inspired by @richieblows on Tumblr sending me water polo au asks that spiralled out of control, so now this is my gift to him 😘

* * *

Swim practice ends before water polo practice.

Eddie’s never stuck around late enough to run into the water polo team in the locker rooms, but today he stayed later than usual to get some extra laps in. He had to miss practice a couple days ago to finish up a physics assignment that was giving him grief and he’s taken the afternoon to make up for it.

The rest of the swim team are long gone, headed back to their dorms or to the dining hall.

He’s just getting into the showers as the majority of the water polo team are packing up and filing out, having avoided the rush they caused when their practice ended. There’s only one straggler from their team who’s just starting his shower, too, as the rest of them leave. 

Which means Eddie sees Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier naked for the first time.

He wasted all his time goofing off and bothering his teammates as they cleaned up after practice and washed the chlorine from their hair and skin, before (apparently) realizing everyone else is done and he’s going to be left behind. This is treated as a regular occurrence.

Eddie isn’t even remotely surprised.

What _does_ surprise him is when it’s just the two of them left in the showers and he accidentally-on-purpose sneaks a peek at the loudmouth asshole’s junk.

He’s no prude. He’s fine with that, and with people knowing that, because he’s a whole adult who’s finally free from his shithole hometown and his mother’s influence, which means he’s had the sexual awakening of the _century,_ and fully embraced the fact that he is gayer than a rainbow. He does what he wants -- _who_ he wants -- and if someone judges him for it, that’s _their_ problem. 

So he’s seen his fair share of dicks in the last few years, and he knows what he’s talking about when he says Richie is _hung._ Like, he _knew_ it was big, because their swimsuits don’t leave much to the imagination, but… seriously, what the fuck? And how the fuck is that _fair?_ This guy is annoying as hell. How come the asshole who makes Eddie want to rip all his hair out gets to have such a nice dick?

It’s not like Eddie’s ever going to fuck him.

_(Oh wait, shit, don’t think about fucking him.)_

And _maybe_ he shouldn’t have looked, but you know what? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction--

_(No!)_

Maybe Eddie shouldn’t have taken his sweet loving time laying out his toiletries all neatly, and slipping his stupid little shower shoes on, because he’s never been alone with Trashmouth Tozier, and he’s _especially_ never been alone with him while actively lusting after his dumb fat dick. 

He needs to get a fucking handle on himself. He needs to hook up with Bill again. It’s been a while. He should get it out of his system so he doesn’t find himself on his knees for the first nice cock he sees like the slut everyone thinks (knows) he is. But he’s gotta fucking stop _thinking about it_ before he pops a boner in front of _Richie,_ of all people, and humiliates himself to the ends of the fucking universe. 

Yeah, so he’s a little pent-up. He’s a healthy adolescent male. It’s fucking _normal._

Trashmouth hasn’t said anything to him yet, but he always does, doesn’t he? He’s always got some jibe or joke or witty (shitty) nickname, and he keeps calling Eddie “Wheezy” ever since he had a panic attack during practice that one time, and he’s always so fucking _smug,_ and he’s stupidly pretty for such a dorky-looking creature, and Eddie _wishes_ he would fuck him-- _what, no--_

_No,_ Trashmouth isn’t teasing him or calling his ass juicy or anything else that makes Eddie _burn_ with lust _hatred._ He’s just singing _Africa_ to himself because he’s a fucking dork, after all, and not someone all cool and suave like he pretends to be.

But then… _Africa_ is sounding strangely close, and Eddie looks up from scrubbing himself down with strawberry-and-mint body wash to find Richie’s moved to a showerhead _much_ closer to him. When Eddie stares too long, he blows him a kiss, and Eddie startles because he didn’t even realize Richie was even paying attention to him, face burning red.

Eddie goes back to scrubbing himself faster, because he does _not_ want to get roped into a conversation with this fucking guy, _no thank you,_ not Weirdly Hot Trashmouth Tozier and his… his fucking horse cock. _No way._

Except then there are hands on his shoulders and he’s being crowded against the wall, and, _holy fuck,_ is Richie actually hard against him? Is that what’s pressing up against his back? 

_(What the fuck else could it be?)_

“You stick around just to spend some quality time with little old me?” Richie asks, right in his ear, as his hands slip from Eddie’s shoulders and trail down his sides to settle low on his hips. 

“No,” Eddie says, then: “Get the fuck off me,” in a much quieter voice, with little, if any, conviction. He wants to reprimand himself for not being more forceful but his thoughts are swirling into a puddle of fucking goo right now, so that plan is put on hold.

Eddie can _hear_ the fake little pout as Richie says, “Aw, you don’t want _that,_ pretty baby.” A shudder rips through Eddie at the pet name, but, _no,_ that must just be the cold from the tiles he’s pressed bodily against, the very same thing that’s making his nipples harden (there’s no excuse for his dick; he’s going to try to ignore that). “You know, I heard a sweet little rumour about you. You think I can hitch a ride?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, because the alternative is a desperate, whiny “ _yes,”_ as Richie leans back just enough to slot his dick right between Eddie’s ass cheeks and thrust against them a couple times, slow, just to make an already _very_ clear point that much clearer.

“I’m trying, baby doll.” Richie grabs his hands from where he’s trying to make a show out of the pretense of pushing him away, gripping both his wrists in one hand and pressing them too forcefully to the tile above his head. Eddie fails to stifle the gasp that’s squeezed out of his lungs at the dull pain of it. Richie’s free hand holds Eddie’s hips in place as he rocks against him. “But you gotta cooperate.”

Eddie whines, mostly because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do with himself. He _hates_ this guy’s guts. Doesn’t he? He’s goofy and annoying and hot and funny and a slut (but that’s hypocritical). He has no respect for personal space or boundaries. He’s rude when he isn’t being annoying. And _maybe_ Eddie saw him feeding some of the stray cats on campus a few times, but that’s just unsanitary, honestly, and _not at all_ charming. And there are so many rumours flying around about the Manwhore Trashmouth, he doesn’t even know _what_ to believe (except the ones about his dick -- those are _definitely_ true). 

But he’s a shitty, annoying person, and that alone should cancel out anything else, so _no,_ Eddie is not fucking attracted to him and _no,_ he doesn’t want to fuck him.

Richie kisses the back of his neck, lingering for a moment before peppering kisses all across his shoulders, which are bent up at an awkward angle as Richie pins his arms above his head. Then his teeth are digging into his skin and Eddie makes a noise halfway to a scream, jerking forward into the wall so hard that he’s _sure_ there will be bruises all down his front tomorrow. 

“That’s good, kitten. That’s good. Just let me take care of you.”

Eddie abandons all pretenses and reminds him, a little dazed, “But we need--”

“Lube?” Richie twists away from him, leans down and lets go of his wrists (but Eddie keeps them there anyway, and he’ll tell himself it’s because he just _forgot_ in the moment) and then he’s tapping Eddie’s side with a cold plastic bottle. “I brought mine over. I come prepared.” He laughs to himself a little and Eddie’s fucking dumbfounded, because he _cannot_ believe this is happening right now. He can’t believe he’s about to fuck the person he has _refused_ to be attracted to for the duration of his college career, right here in the dirty fucking locker room showers, and he’s just… letting it happen.

(Wants _it to happen.)_

He _should,_ at the very least, tell Richie they need a condom, too, if he’s going to just let this virtual stranger fuck him like this, but he just… doesn’t. There’s nothing about not using a condom that’s appealing to him. Nothing at all. It must just slip his mind.

Richie pushes Eddie out from under the spray of water, dragging him along the wall before rubbing lube all over his fingers.

“Is this okay?” he asks, spreading his ass to hold light pressure against his entrance. 

It takes a second for Eddie’s brain to catch up with his mouth, so he’s already embarrassed himself by insisting that, _“Yes, yeah, please, it’s fine, go ahead,”_ before he can take control again, and Richie snorts with his cheek pressed to his damp hair. He grabs Eddie’s wrists again to keep him in place as he works his fingers inside.

Frankly, it’s just fucking ridiculous that his fingers are big, too, and Eddie _hates_ that he’s so attracted to this asshole, and that he wants this so fucking bad he thinks he would actually die if Richie were to stop right now. 

Richie tells him how good he is in the same breath he calls him a slut, then calls him his “pretty baby” again while telling him he shouldn’t be so tight for someone who supposedly spreads his legs for any jerkoff looking for a hole to fuck, which makes Eddie so fucking dizzy he’s _glad_ Richie’s pinning him to the wall like this. He bites all over his throat and sucks hickeys everywhere he can reach while he drives his fingers right into his prostate until Eddie’s trying to fight him off again, then keeps going until there are tears streaming down his face, and his cock is so hard where it’s trapped between Eddie’s stomach and the wall that it _hurts._

He thinks he might be close to coming when Richie finally pulls his fingers out of him and then, because he’s a fucking _dickhead,_ he smears what’s left of the lube across Eddie’s cheek.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. We’re in a shower, you can wash it off after,” he snaps when Eddie starts spitting expletives at him. “You’re being fucking ungrateful, kitten. Maybe I should just leave you here to finish up on your own.”

Eddie shuts up _real_ fast, and Richie’s laughing at him, low and cruel in a way that makes heat flare low in his gut as he trembles where he stands. The laughter rattles through him where they’re pressed together, back to chest, and Eddie’s _positive_ Richie pinning him bodily to the wall is the only reason he’s still upright, because his legs have gone weak and he’s all lightheaded. But Richie has to move, and when Eddie inevitably starts slipping down the wall as he shifts back, he just laughs louder. He catches him around the waist and takes a second to lick a fat stripe from the base of his throat to his jaw when Eddie tumbles back into him. “You losing touch there, or what?”

Eddie mumbles something that he hopes to be an affirmative, because he’s maybe a little numb everywhere and maybe feeling a little _too_ much; maybe a little dizzy and maybe a little too aware of his surroundings, but all he can think of right now is how he wants Richie to just fucking rail him. He wants to forget his own name. He wants Richie to add to the bite marks and bruises already littering his neck and shoulders. He wants him to come inside him and just leave it there.

Another wave of dizziness overtakes him. 

“I… _please?”_ is all he manages to say coherently, and then he’s being shoved face-first into the wall again, Richie still holding him firmly around the waist. The head of his cock is pressing into his hole and he’s saying _“please”_ again without meaning to, while Richie tells him in a voice warm with mirth, “Don’t you worry, kitten, I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”

Richie’s by far the biggest Eddie’s ever taken, and he really doesn’t think he can handle it at first. He starts pushing inside and Eddie yanks hard enough to free one hand from where Richie’s still pinning his wrists, catching him off guard (he’s too intently focused on watching Eddie stretch around him). He tries to shove Richie’s hips back and _away,_ sharp little nails digging into his skin as he lets out a high keening sound and shakes his head, finding himself entirely unable to form words in the moment. 

_‘Too much,’_ he wants to say, pushing harder at Richie’s hip when he continues trying to slide forward. He _can’t,_ he can’t fucking _talk,_ breath coming in short shallow gasps that are making his head spin _more._ But maybe Richie gets the message he’s trying to convey anyway, because he’s laughing and trailing wet kisses up the side of his throat as his hand closes around Eddie’s wrist again and _slams_ it back onto the wall, hard enough to fucking _bruise._

“You can do it, baby. I believe in you,” he taunts, sucking another hickey onto his throat. Fortunately, he doesn’t move for those few merciful seconds, and some of the pain abates. But it doesn’t stay gone; he’s inching forward again, and Eddie’s hands curl into fists, nails cutting crescents on his palms, because it’s still just _too fucking much._

By the time Richie’s pressed all the way inside, he feels so full it _hurts,_ and he’s crying again, tears caught in his eyelashes. He’s stretched up onto his tiptoes, most of his weight bearing down where he and Richie are joined together, and his legs are _shaking._

In fact, his whole fucking body is shaking.

Richie slips out of him slowly, so he feels every inch of it, an uncomfortable friction and a sudden emptiness where he’s never even _felt_ empty before. He’s pushing back in, then, much faster than his initial pace. Eddie’s poor, straining legs give out altogether as he’s filled abruptly, Richie’s cock _just_ scraping by his prostate. It makes Richie sink _deeper,_ somehow, when he goes boneless against him, and he lets out a sound that’s almost a wail. 

“Oh, baby doll,” Richie breathes, arm curling around his waist again to support him. “You really are a slut for it, huh?”

Eddie can’t answer him, not properly, but he _can_ moan loudly as Richie rocks up into him, his cheek pressed against the filthy tiles and his mouth hanging open. 

Richie nips at his jaw. “You gotta be quieter than that, kitty. I know it’s good, but you don’t want to get caught, do you?” _Does he?_ What would someone think, if they walked in here and saw him speared on Richie Tozier’s cock like this, red-faced and crying for it, completely gone from his own head and just floating off into space somewhere as Richie thrusts up against his prostate and punches too-loud noises out of him? He almost thinks he gets harder thinking about it, if that’s even possible.

Richie shushes him again, before letting go of his wrists and telling him, “Keep your hands right there for me, alright? That’s a good boy.” His hand clamps over Eddie’s mouth, almost covering his nose, too, and making it difficult to breathe, but that’s just as well because he’s barely been breathing anyway. 

Richie seems to stop holding back altogether then, if he even was before, and fucks into him at a pace bordering on brutal, until Eddie’s sure he’s quite literally bruising his insides. The rapid, slick sound of it is positively obscene.

Eddie tries -- _tries_ \-- to keep his hands where Richie wants them, but he’s gone so muscle-weak all over that he just _can’t_ keep them up like that. His arms slowly slide downwards until he’s clawing at the wall down near his chest, and then he latches one hand onto Richie’s arm -- the one he’s using to try to keep Eddie quiet. Richie doesn’t reprimand him for his disobedience, but he _does_ bite down particularly hard on the side of his throat and aim a few sharp thrusts right into his prostate, which makes more tears spill down Eddie’s cheeks, and makes breathing that much harder.

“I’m gonna come inside, baby doll, alright? Can I come inside you? Fill you up good?” he asks, and Eddie’s vision is swimming as he chokes on a moan and tries to nod, tries to say “ _please”_ again, even as his whole body goes taut and he shakes apart on Richie’s cock. His own is still trapped between his body and the cold tiles Richie is pressing him against. 

The hand that isn’t clawing into Richie’s forearm reaches back to tangle in Richie’s hair, to twist and _pull_ while Eddie lets out a muffled cry of what might be his name. The warmth of his cum coats his stomach and begins dripping down his thighs. 

Richie’s teeth sink into the sensitive skin on the back of his neck and he’s snapping his hips forward, and it _hurts_ it fucking _hurts_ but he wants it to hurt like this fucking _forever._ The arm around his waist squeezes so tight it’s _painful._ There’s a burst of _heat_ deep inside him and Richie’s tense muscles start to go lax as he gives a couple more stuttering thrusts to ride out his orgasm and force his cum deeper. 

Eddie thinks he’s been disconnected entirely from his own brain at this point, especially when Richie presses a kiss to his cheek softly enough to contradict the entire last fifteen or so minutes of his life. 

Richie’s probably going to leave now, and Eddie’s going to have to clean up and deal with the aftermath of whatever the fuck just happened, which isn’t anything new for him, really. He _does_ get around about as much as the rumours say, after all. 

Except Richie just _doesn’t._ He peels Eddie off the wall so that he’s leaning back against him, and smooths the hair out of his face as he guides him under the flow of water again. “You alright?” he asks, as he uses the hand that isn’t supporting him to pick up the body wash and cloth Eddie was cleaning himself with earlier. Eddie nods a bit dumbly, still not entirely back to reality. 

“Do you need to sit, or can you stand?”

He doesn’t really have an answer to that (as long as Richie holds him he thinks he’s alright with standing, maybe, but his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth for him to actually form the words) so he just shrugs. Richie keeps an arm on his waist and starts cleaning him off, almost gently, starting with his face, the sticky tears there and the lube he so callously smeared on Eddie’s cheek. He uses the body wash on his neck, shoulders, and chest, then works his way down to the mess on his stomach, before dipping between his thighs to clean up the cum that’s leaked out of him.

“I’m going to leave the rest, okay? Can you keep it inside? Just as a token of my appreciation.” Richie _winks_ at him, grinning crookedly, and what the fuck. _What the fuck._ Did this doofus-ass man seriously just fuck Eddie so good he’s pretty sure it was transcendental? Why is he so attractive even though he’s obviously such a huge dork? Where the hell did _this_ guy go just now?

Seriously, what the fuck?

Eddie’s just _staring,_ but he eventually finds it in himself to nod, and then Richie’s pressing an eager kiss to his forehead and taking his wrists in his hands to examine them, like he’s checking to see if he caused any _real_ damage. Eddie wouldn’t even know because he can’t feel anything except lightheaded and out of his body right now (and _satisfied;_ a bone-deep, comfortably warm sensation).

He doesn’t stop there, either. He gets Eddie cleaned up, helps him dry off and dress and pack up his toiletry bag, and then fucking _offers to walk him to his dorm._ Eddie’s more confused than he’s ever been in his life, but at least he can talk again now, enough to tell him, “No, that’s okay, I… I can get there on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Richie’s still dressing, his wet hair sending rivulets of water running down his bare chest, and Eddie cannot, frankly, believe anything that just happened actually _happened,_ but he _knows_ it did because he can feel the… the _load_ Richie left in him trying desperately to drip down his leg, losing a battle with gravity.

“I’m sure,” he says, gathering his belongings up in his arms and turning to flee. He pauses long enough to add, “Uh… thank you?” Though he isn’t sure for _what,_ exactly, he’s grateful.

“Anytime, pretty kitty,” Richie calls after him with a lopsided smile and a wink that’s got his heart racing, and Eddie finds himself immediately wishing Richie would call him back over for a second round. But he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to function properly for at least another couple hours, anyway, and he desperately needs to sleep off… all of _that._

He can’t say that if Richie tried that shit again, he’d put up much of a fight. Except maybe to get him to be _mean_ to him again. Just for fun.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When their respective coaches sit both teams down for a chat during their Thursday afternoon practice, Richie makes a beeline for Eddie and slings an arm around his shoulders. He ruffles his hair while Eddie makes a display of pushing him away, before he can get too worked up from the feeling of his (stupid) big hands all over his bare skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as last time for "dubcon" warning but Richie and Eddie both know Eddie is just being a little shit. Still, he sort of tells Richie "no" and Richie still comes on to him.

* * *

Richie has unilaterally decided that they’re friends now. Or something adjacent to friendship. 

Not that he never bothered Eddie during practices or anything before. He’s been pestering Eddie since their first fucking week of school together, when Eddie climbed out of Pool A just as Richie and his water polo buddies were dicking around and getting ready for their first practice in Pool B, and Richie offered a hand to help him up and asked for his name.

Which he never actually fucking uses, anyway.

But they’re something like “friends” now and that means Richie is a lot more liberal about physical contact, which Eddie did not think was even possible, and which used to make him feel just a tiny bit flustered and now puts him in the fucking danger zone for popping a boner in his speedo for everyone present to see and make fun of him for. 

They only had sex  _ one time _ and Eddie’s been reduced to… to  _ this, _ whatever it is. 

Getting too warm in Richie’s presence and feeling colour creep into his cheeks when he slings and arm around his shoulders and forgetting to remind Richie that his name isn’t Eds or Spaghetti Head or Wheezy or whatever the fuck new name he decides to surprise him with.

Richie has decided to start acting like his  _ friend _ and Eddie is absolutely beyond fucked (not in the fun way).

He’s also still kinda douchey and kind of a perv and makes  _ way too many _ “your mom” jokes and Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to think so he just  _ doesn’t. _ He just doesn’t think about it. He goes to swim practice and ignores the water polo team as much as he can and puts up with Richie whenever he can’t dodge him, and  _ maybe _ spends the rest of his time actively trying to avoid him.

It’s just--

It’s  _ weird. _

He was a good lay, sure. Maybe fantastic. Eddie wouldn’t say that out loud but he can  _ think _ it.

There’s no need for something more and neither have them have tried it again so--

So that’s it.

They can go their separate ways, and Richie can keep wildly oscillating between “somewhat charming dork” and “somewhat sleazy goofball” and Eddie doesn’t have to think about Richie calling him  _ baby doll _ every time he jerks off.

_ (He can’t stop, though.) _

It’s not like they really see each other outside of practice. It’s a big fucking school. 

When their respective coaches sit both teams down for a chat during their Thursday afternoon practice, Richie makes a beeline for Eddie and slings an arm around his shoulders. He ruffles his hair while Eddie makes a display of pushing him away, before he can get too worked up from the feeling of his (stupid) big hands all over his bare skin.

“So, you boys have a meet coming up in Portland on the weekend of the twenty-fifth,” Coach Harris tells them all. “Here’s the game plan. All water sports teams will be travelling together, which means us  _ and _ the synchronized swimming team.” A couple people around them snort loudly and Richie’s dumb hands find their way onto Eddie’s body again, trying to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer. Eddie definitely doesn’t hesitate a few seconds before elbowing him in the ribs. No way. “We board the bus at  _ six _ on Friday. Don’t be late. Bring whatever assignments you need to work on for the weekend because this is a pretty big regional event so you’ll have a lot of downtime, but we won’t be coming back until Sunday afternoon.”

Someone groans. Someone else whispers a complaint about time away from his girlfriend. A series of snickers rises up from where some of the water polo players are clustered.

“You’ll get your event schedules Friday when we arrive,” Coach Carson, the water polo coach, says loudly, shooting a pointed look at the interrupting members of his team. “We’re booking double rooms at the venue because we aren’t made of money, so everyone gets to spend some quality time with a roommate. We’ll draw names from a hat during practice this Saturday. So if you have a specific request, come see me now,” he adds, tapping the clipboard he’s holding. 

Eddie does. Eddie has a specific request not to be stuck in a room with Richard Fucking Tozier. He’s not sure how he’ll go about  _ making _ that request, since he’s not exactly planning to tell either of their coaches that he let that tall hot dickhead who thinks he’s funny fuck him, even though he  _ definitely _ doesn’t get along with him, and overall the current relations aren’t so great because he has… like…  _ some _ dignity. 

But he’s not about to subject himself to an entire weekend of  _ whatever the fuck _ is going on between the two of them, especially not when he’s all but naked during swim meets, and anyone with two working eyes will see whatever marks Richie decides to leave on him.

Eddie’s breath catches a little in his throat and he curses himself for even fucking thinking about  _ that, _ and how long the hickeys and bite marks took to fade last time and how he kept touching them whenever he was masturbating because--

Oh good God he is so fucking fucked.

He’s going to tell Coach Carson he doesn’t want to room with Richie because he hates his guts, whether or not that’s actually true, and then he’ll room with, who fucking knows,  _ Bill _ or somebody. 

Somebody he can use to take his mind off Richie, even though he  _ knows _ sex with him isn’t going to be nearly as satisfying anymore.

At least Bill won’t try to shred the skin on his neck like a rabid dog if they fuck.

Richie beats him to it, though, and he’s already chatting with Carson the moment the meeting ends, having rushed from his side at some point in the last five seconds with, apparently, the specific goal of causing problems for Eddie. 

Eddie storms up to give Richie a piece of his mind, and to tell Carson to disregard  _ everything _ that comes out of this fibbing asshole’s mouth, because he just  _ knows _ Richie’s spinning tales about what great friends they are so they can room together, and since when did he even understand the way Richie’s mind works well enough to predict his actions?

Richie  _ is _ spinning tales, all nice and charming and shit. He drops an arm across Eddie’s shoulders to pull him into a little side hug, smiling so sincerely at the coaches as he explains how Eddie’s just so  _ sweet _ to him, and he’d love to be friends, and what a perfect opportunity it would be for them to spend a whole weekend rooming together, so they can get to know each other better.

Eddie’s  _ trapped _ because his only option right now is to make  _ himself _ the asshole and tell Richie to fuck right off in front of both their coaches, while he’s putting on this disturbingly convincing act of being, like... genuinely nice. He just watches with his jaw on the floor as Richie shakes both their hands and thanks them for all the incredible opportunities, and tells them just how grateful he is, and how he’s made some of the best friends in his life while part of the water polo team.

Then the conversation is over and there’s something unsettling in Richie’s eyes as he plants a wet kiss on his cheek and tells him he’s looking forward to having a whole weekend to play with him, and Eddie’s knees nearly give out.

Did he mention he’s fucked?

  
*  
  
  


They get to their hotel late on Friday night, because they were stuck in traffic for so fucking long and took about three lifetimes at the rest stop. Boarding the bus again after their fast food dinner was like herding kittens. They should have been here hours ago. 

Eddie can’t even bring himself to care about the room arrangements, because he’s too busy thinking about sleep, and how nice it will be to just put his head on a pillow. He purposely sat as far from Richie as possible on the bus, and Richie didn’t push his luck -- just stayed where he was, probably because he knew Eddie was already going to have to put up with enough of his shit over the course of the weekend. 

Still, Eddie caught him staring a few times. 

He should’ve known sleep was not in the plans for the night.

He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and comes out of the washroom to get his pyjamas out of his bag. 

Richie’s got all his crap tossed in a corner, clothes spilling out of his unzipped duffel bag, a Walkman on the bed, his dirty socks on the floor. In complete contrast to Eddie, who stacked his belongings neatly against the wall beside his bed and made sure everything was in its place after he got his toiletry bag out. He’s already rolling his eyes before the door has swung shut behind him, and it doesn’t occur to him that in all that mess, there’s a vital element missing: Richie is nowhere to be seen. 

He sweeps up behind him and grabs him around the waist, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat, and Eddie yelps in surprise so Richie presses a hand over his mouth. “Quiet, now, we’ve got neighbours, you know.”

“Fuck off,” says Eddie, muffled, and he tries to mean it but he... perhaps, has not stopped thinking about the fucking stellar lay that Richie was, and he hasn’t hooked up with anyone else since, which is kind of a new record for him. Frankly, he’s a little pissed, and a little scared Richie may have ruined him for anyone else, but he is  _ not _ willing to admit that, not at fucking all, so he settles for some healthy insults in the hopes Richie will make the decision to end this before it begins, so that Eddie doesn’t have to.

Except Richie just licks up the side of his throat, hot and wet, and croons, “Oh, baby, you can be meaner than that. Get my dick hard, c’mon.”

“Eat shit, fuckface,” Eddie snaps, muffled, trying to pry Richie’s hand off of his face, and he swears Richie actually shudders behind him before latching onto the skin under his jaw and starting to suck a hickey there. He stomps on Richie’s foot hard enough that he finally lets go, looking more than a little miffed. “Don’t you fucking dare leave marks on me, I swear to god. I have an event first thing in the morning and you are  _ not--” _

Richie kisses him, because Richie is an asshole and he just does whatever the fuck he wants, apparently, but when Eddie shoves him off he says, “Okay, deal,” with a shit-eating grin, and Eddie isn’t sure if he wants to be pissed Richie still thinks Eddie wants to fuck him at all tonight _ (doesn’t he?) _ or relieved he’s actually getting his way.

He lets Richie fuck him on his bed, and he’s so big his legs shake and his eyes water, and Richie puts him right back into that distant and floaty headspace again. He knows he shouldn’t let Richie come in him, because it was so hard to get it all out last time, but he just doesn’t have it in him to tell him not to, and he especially doesn’t want to tell him to use a condom, so when Richie asks if he can come inside, and Eddie’s pretty sure his body and his mind have diverged into separate entities, he nods and whines a little,  _ “Please?” _

  
*  
  
  


When he wakes up Saturday morning, he’s right back to “fuck that guy” and “fuck his seductive talents” and  _ “definitely _ fuck his huge dick” and  _ “especially  _ fuck his ability to make the best possible use of the gifts God gave him.” 

Something like that. 

Seriously, how dare he? How dare he take advantage of Eddie like that? How dare he be just hot enough and just charismatic enough and just a good enough fuck that Eddie isn’t even capable of resisting it. 

Is he a fucking incubus? 

This is bullshit.

And he’s  _ sore. _ Which is really what’s pissing him off so much. He’s so sore and it felt so fucking good last night but now, while he’s trying to win a damn race, it doesn’t feel nearly as good (or so he tries to tell himself).

So when he hauls himself out of the water to find Richie and a couple other members of the water polo team hanging out in the front row of the stands, he’s still thinking  _ fuck you fuck you fuck you. _

He towels off, gets his congratulatory pats on the back or whatever the fuck from his teammates, and he’s glaring at Richie the whole time. 

Richie’s grinning right back. He’s got an empty seat saved beside him, one foot kicked up on it casually, and Eddie knows what he thinks that’s for, but like hell he’s going to give him the satisfaction. 

In fact, he outright  _ refuses _ to give him the satisfaction. He knows there’s a good hour until the water polo game starts for Richie’s team, which means several hours until his own second and final event for the weekend, and he thinks some good old-fashioned revenge is in store.

He bypasses Richie completely to approach Bill, the other member of the water polo team Eddie’s hooked up with several times in the past. 

Bill’s alright -- he’s had worse, but he’s definitely (and quite recently) had better. Way fucking better. Still, Bill’s always been a sweetheart to him, and Richie’s a run-of-the-mill d-bag, right? So there’s no competition there.

_ (Yes, actually, there is.) _

“Hi, Bill,” he says sweetly, leaning over the railing, giving his best smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to take advantage of your free time before your game starts?”

Bill agrees easily enough, so Eddie takes him by the hand to lead him away, find somewhere they can have some privacy, and he sneaks a look at Richie to find him appropriately livid, which just leaves Eddie feeling smug. Because fuck him, right? He doesn’t deserve Eddie. He’s barely even nice to Eddie.

Well, except that... last night, after he was done fucking the soul out of him, he kind of  _ was _ nice. Like before. Holding him until he felt like himself again and telling him how good he did, helping him clean up and letting him share the unsoiled bed with him.

Still, though, he can’t just fucking... barge into Eddie’s life and take whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and expect Eddie to just bend to his will. 

So he gets a condom and lube out of his bag on their way through the locker room and he lets Bill fuck him in some empty meeting room, and it’s not entirely unsatisfying but he also can’t stop thinking about Richie, and how fucking good he felt last night, and how he’s still sore from it, and how sweet revenge tastes -- how pissed Richie is probably going to be.

Eddie can’t wait to rub it in his face, that Richie doesn’t get to keep him to himself, and that Eddie isn’t going to play along with his stupid little games, no matter how much he likes them.

He doesn’t stick around to watch the water polo games, just goes back up to his and Richie’s shared room to shower and freshen up before his next event, and when he gets back to the pool Richie is back in the stands, still looking pissed as all hell, and Eddie’s still smug as fuck about it.

He finishes up his event, purposely avoiding eye contact with Richie the whole time, just to get his point across (not because he’s worried he’ll start something if he looks at him too long). He hauls ass back to their room as soon as he’s dressed, ready to spend the afternoon hiding from him. 

But Richie’s not a fucking idiot, apparently, because he’s throwing the door open not five minutes later, expression deadly calm, and he waltzes straight over to Eddie’s bed (now with fresh sheets, thanks to the cleaning service). “You’re cute,” Richie says, which is not what Eddie was expecting, and he makes an inquisitive noise and tilts his head, setting aside the assignment he’s working on. “Yeah, real fuckin’ cute,” Richie continues, now lifting one knee onto the bed and crowding into his space, “thinking you can fuck around like that without consequences.”

“Um,” says Eddie, and then he’s being slammed down onto the mattress with a hand around his throat.

“You were trying to piss me off, right? You wanted it rough, or something? I thought I was already giving it to you plenty rough, kitten, but all you had to do was ask.” The grip on Eddie’s throat tightens and he goes dizzy for a second, both hands curling over Richie’s wrist and squeezing. He loosens up a little, just enough to let Eddie breathe. 

“I want you... to leave me alone,” he lies, rasping, not making any further move to get Richie off of him. “I’m not your... fucking... plaything.”

Richie laughs viciously at that, free hand already creeping under Eddie’s shirt, and it tears a rough gasp out of him when he pinches hard at his nipple. “No, you don’t. Nice try, though.”

Eddie doesn’t argue the point, because he’s dug himself in this deep, anyway. So he stays when Richie tells him to stay, flat on his back on the hotel bed while Richie rummages through his bags, and he takes his shirt off when he tells him to. And he doesn’t complain when Richie wraps a belt around his wrists to tie them together over his bare chest. In fact, he fights down the colour rising in his cheeks, because no one’s ever done that before and he really, really likes it, enough that it’s, uh, physically pretty obvious. Richie’s smirking because he already knows the answer when he asks, “Is that okay? Is it too much?”

“No,” Eddie relents. “It’s fine.”

“Seems more than fine to--”

Eddie kicks him in the thigh to shut him up and earns himself a slap across the face for it, and he doesn’t think that should turn him on so much. Richie grabs at his throat again and growls, “You’re already in enough fucking trouble, you ungrateful bitch.”

“What-fucking-ever.” Eddie rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, dick twitching in his pants at the calm anger clear in Richie’s eyes, and Richie bites him. Harder than he ever did the first time they fucked, just below his collarbone, and Eddie can’t scream because he isn’t getting enough air for that, but he still makes a high noise somewhere in the back of his throat even as Richie presses harder at his windpipe. He doesn’t have to see to know he’s bleeding.

He tries to get his anger across with a glare, but Richie isn’t paying attention, he’s too busy uncapping the lube and pouring some on his fingers, and before Eddie can do anything to brace himself he’s shoving two fingers in him at once. He’s  _ way too fucking sore _ for that. Eddie half-screams again, kicking out against him, and Richie finally lets go of his throat so he can breathe properly again. “Fuck you, that hurts,” he croaks, whacking Richie’s shoulder with his bound hands. 

“Really? I’d expect you to be pretty fucking loose, considering.” As if to emphasize his point, he forces a third finger in beside the first two, and the stretch is too much, too fast; it has Eddie tearing up. “Or is Billy’s cock really that small? Must not be very satisfying.”

“Richie, slow down, take it easy, please,” Eddie whimpers, but still, he can’t bring himself to outright ask him to stop, and he hates that. 

“Richie, slow down,” Richie mocks in a high voice. He stretches his fingers too wide and Eddie chokes on a gasp. “Don’t piss me off and maybe it wouldn’t be a fucking problem.”

He pulls his fingers out of him too fast, and it fucking hurts, but he’s already lining his cock up to push in and Eddie knows there’s no point asking him to go easy, even though he’s still hurting from last night, and his little rendezvous with Bill only made things worse. He rocks right into him, sinking too deep all at once, and the dam bursts, tears spilling down Eddie’s cheeks. Richie bites him again, just as hard, this time right at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Eddie fucking wails, back arching, legs tensing on either side of Richie’s hips. 

“Are you gonna let Bill fuck you again?” Richie demands as he sets a brutal pace, aggravating every ache Eddie’s been dealing with since last night. He shakes his head as Richie batters his prostate, not even entirely cognizant of what it is he’s agreeing to. “You gonna let anyone who isn’t me fuck you again?” He shakes his head again. 

Richie’s fingers twist into his hair and pull, forcing his head to the side so he can suck hickeys all up the side of his throat, licking over the bruises when he’s done. 

One hand comes down to wrap around Eddie’s cock and he squeezes his eyes shut, whining, because he’s already close. It hurts and it’s a lot but he’s so fucking close already, and Richie’s so big inside him he doesn’t think anything else will ever compare. He clenches down around Richie and comes all over his hand, body going lax beneath him while Richie continues to fuck into him. 

He’s so damn oversensitive that he starts whimpering and pushing at Richie’s chest and shoulders, as if he’d ever be able to push him off, but Richie just grabs the belt and forces his hands up over his head, and Eddie starts sobbing. “’s too much,” he tries to tell him, feeling himself go all floaty again as Richie peppers kisses all over his cheeks and his throat, hips slamming into him so hard it hurts, and his breath is stuttering in his chest as he tries to stop crying.

“No it isn’t, baby doll, because if it was too much you wouldn’t go around fucking other people, as if I weren’t enough for you.” Richie yanks on his hair, harder this time, and Eddie’s fucking astonished to realize his dick is trying to get hard again. 

Richie’s face is pinched in something like concentration while he’s fucking him, and part of him wishes he’d just come already and get it over with, but he’s pretty sure Richie’s actively resisting it, which is just as well, because another part of him entirely wants Richie to make him come on his cock a second time.

He grabs Eddie’s dick and strokes him back to hardness, colour sitting high on his cheeks, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead, and then his fingers are on Eddie’s throat again and he’s squeezing, cutting off his air, and Eddie’s just gone. His mind has severed ties with his body and it’s so good and he’s floating, and he’s simultaneously too aware of his second orgasm tearing through him and too far removed from it. 

But then Richie’s voice is drawing him back. “I could come in you, kitten, but I don’t think you deserve it after that stunt you pulled. Do you?”

“No,” Eddie whines in a faraway voice. He tries to get his eyes to focus on Richie’s face above him but he’s not sure he’s successful. “No, I-- I  _ want _ you to.”

“Ask nicely.” Richie’s hand is still on his throat, not applying pressure anymore, just holding him in place.

“...Please?”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Please? Please come inside me.”

Richie hums, contemplative, like it isn’t fucking killing him to force himself not to come. “Call me Daddy.”

And Eddie doesn’t care, Eddie doesn’t fucking care anymore, he’d do literally anything to get Richie to come in him at this point, even though everything fucking hurts and he’s positive the bus ride home tomorrow is going to be an absolute nightmare as it is. “Please, Daddy? Come inside me, Daddy?” he begs through tears, and Richie practically collapses on top of him as he pumps a load of cum into him, a low moan tearing out of his chest.

They just lie there for a while, breathing, and when Richie finally pulls out of him, Eddie hisses an, “Oh, fuck.”

“I got you,” Richie says, sounding -- just like that -- like a completely different person. He’s untying the belt from Eddie’s wrists and rubbing at the marks it left on his skin, and Eddie can feel himself slowly drifting back down into his own body, which feels like it got run over by a truck. “You did good,” Richie’s telling him, kissing his forehead, and it makes him inexplicably delighted to hear that -- all warm in his chest, so much so that he can’t contain the smile it brings to his lips. 

“You think so?”

Richie lies on his side and pulls Eddie in close to put an arm around him. “Yeah, of course. You take it like a champ, haven’t I told you that?”

“Think you might’ve mentioned something like that last night,” Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead to Richie’s shoulder and sighing heavily.

“Are you alright?” Richie asks, already checking him over anyway, preparing to treat whatever injuries he’s inflicted once Eddie’s come down from it. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

Eddie huffs something that might be a laugh. “Everywhere,” he jokes, and an awful expression crosses Richie’s face, like he’s appalled with himself. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, eyes shining with tears, and Eddie’s taken aback because that’s the last thing he’d expect from fucking  _ Tozier. _ He brushes his hair off his forehead and cups his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss, wiping Eddie’s tears from his cheeks as he does so. “I’m sorry, baby, I should’ve been more gentle. I won’t do that again, I swear. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, because is Richie seriously apologizing to him? How does his whole attitude keep doing a complete one-eighty like this? So what he ends up saying is: “Uh... no, I liked it.” At which Richie sort-of laughs, just enough to let Eddie know he isn’t going to drown in his guilt. “I’d appreciate a shower, though.”

“Why yes, of course, Your Highness. Anything for you, Your Grace,” Richie says, in possibly the worst British accent Eddie’s ever heard, even as he’s helping him to (very slowly) sit up and crawl off the bed. “Shall I ask your royal servants to prepare a delectable snack for you to enjoy after your royal bath, as well?”

“Why, that would just be delightful, thank you,” Eddie responds in an equally bad accent. Richie laughs so hard he snorts, and Eddie thinks maybe it isn’t so bad that Richie refuses to leave him the fuck alone.

* * *


End file.
